


Too Busy Being Yours

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Top Sam, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets high at a party and convinces Dean to let Sam fuck him. Again.</p><p>Underage: Sam is 15/16</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Busy Being Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ephermeralk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephermeralk/gifts).



Dean’s pissed off voice pierces through the weed-induced haze in Sam’s mind. He leans away from the girl whose mouth had just covered his, blowing another shotgun hit down Sam’s throat. He can taste the curls of smoke on the edge of his lips, and he licks absently at those dry spots while turning to face his brother.  
  
“Hiya, Dean.” Sam gives him a happy, dimpled smile as he lets his hand trail over the knee of the giggling girl in front of him, petting at her soft thigh. She doesn’t seem to mind. Seems to like it, in fact, and her smooth skin feels really good against his palm.  
  
The girl standing behind the couch – Sam doesn’t really know any of their names – is holding the blunt now, and she leans down to slide her hand against Sam’s cheek, her thumb brushing at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Want another hit?” she asks, and Sam’s just about to nod ‘yes’ when his brother grabs him by the arm and abruptly yanks him off the couch. Shaking Sam just hard enough to make a point, Dean glares at the girls.  
  
“He’s fuckin’ fifteen years old,” he growls at them. “I asked you to watch him for a minute, not get him high.”  
  
“He’s only a little bit high,” the girl behind the couch answers, either oblivious or apathetic to Dean’s death-glare. Sam thinks about protesting that he’s basically sixteen, just a month shy of making it official, but judiciously decides to keep quiet instead. Dean’s in Big-Brother-Protector Mode right now, and, even stoned, Sam knows there’s no reasoning with Dean when he’s like this.  
  
He lets his brother drag him away because resisting would only piss Dean off more, and Sam does _not_ want to go back to their stuffy motel room yet nor does he want Dean to embarrass him in front of all these college kids. But he digs his heels in when they get to the staircase, refusing to move when Dean tries to drag him up. “Where are we going?” he demands.  
  
“Master bedroom,” Dean answers, his jaw still tight. “You can take a nap or watch TV or recite the fuckin’ state capitals for all I care until I’m ready to go.”  
  
Sam pouts a little, tries to shake off Dean’s arm again with no success. “I didn’t come here to be locked in a room,” he protests.  
  
“You didn’t come here for anything. I only brought you along so I could keep an eye on you while Dad takes down a coven,” Dean says irritably. “You’re lucky I didn’t just lock you up in the car to begin with. Now come on. Don’t think I won’t throw your sorry ass over my shoulder and haul you up there myself.”  
  
He tries to pull Sam up by the arm, but Sam plants his feet, his chin tilting up in a defiant gesture that his family’s all-too-familiar with these days. But, before Sam has a chance to react, Dean grabs Sam from under his knees and flings him over his shoulder like a duffle bag that’s not _quite_ taller than Dean yet.  
  
Sam kicks his feet until Dean smacks his butt and growls at him to calm the fuck down. The slap startles Sam enough that he stops protesting, lets gravity bring his cheek down against the curve of Dean’s back. Which is when he suddenly realizes the excellent view that his current placement puts him in.  
  
Reaching down, he slides his hand inside the waistband of Dean’s jeans, loose around his hips like they always are. His hand fits easily inside, and he can feel Dean’s jump of surprise as he palms his brother’s ass.  
  
“Stop it, Sam,” Dean hisses, but Sam chuckles and lets his hand wander around all that smooth, warm skin.  
  
“D’you remember when I fucked you?” Sam muses, trying to whisper but failing spectacularly. Dean’s hands tighten around his legs and Sam smiles darkly as he continues. “Worked my fingers in you while you squirmed on the couch, all bent over and begging me to stick my cock in that pretty pink hole…” Sam lets his finger slip just between his brother’s cheeks, chuckling as Dean’s grip on his legs turns bruising. But then everything gets turned on its side as Sam feels himself hauled up and returned to the ground.  
  
“That was—” Dean clears his throat while a flush colors the edges of his cheeks. “I was drunk, Sammy. I shouldn’ta done that. I made a mistake, okay, letting things get that far.”  
  
“You weren’t _that_ drunk,” Sam stubbornly points out, and he kind of wants to argue the point some more but Dean doesn’t answer. Instead, he quickly jimmies open the locked bedroom door and drags Sam inside.  
  
“Alright, Cheech, you’re gonna keep your underage, stoned ass in here till I come get ya,” Dean says, pushing him on the bed. He points a finger down at Sam, barking out a firm: “Stay.”  
  
Sam frowns, bristling at being ordered around like a dog. But then he registers the feel of the bedcovers under his hands, all that delicious texture as his fingers trail across the stitched patterns. He falls back into it, nuzzling his head against the quilt.  
  
“ _Deeeeean_ ,” he says, letting his voice pitch into a light whine. He knows his brother hasn’t left yet, can almost feel his presence next to the bed. His back arches as his shoulders slide up the covers, his body reveling in every intensified physical sensation. “Please,” Sam begs, arching higher until his shirt rides up and he can feel the cool air hitting the top of his bare hips.  
  
He writhes a little longer, hips shifting in circles, before he turns to look at his brother. Dean’s eyes are fixed on Sam with an unmistakable type of hunger that he’s never been able to hide very well, not since Sam hit puberty. Smirking at Dean’s hesitation, Sam slides a hand up the side of his leg and then over all the naked, exposed skin across his belly. Dean hasn’t looked away yet, his eyes following Sam’s hand as it caresses back and forth.  
  
“Bet you’d feel so good against my skin,” Sam says dreamily, immediately lost in the thought as he pushes his hand higher, rucking up his shirt when he reaches his chest. “Fuck. You’d feel so good, just touching me. _Please_ , Dean. Just touch me.”  
  
And then, amazingly enough, Dean _is_ touching him. It’s light. Just the edge of his fingers skimming across Sam’s stomach. But Sam moans into it, eyes fluttering back because Dean feels incredible. His skin lights up under Dean’s touch, the sensation reverberating across Sam’s body like electric ripples.  
  
“More,” Sam begs breathily, putting his other hand on Dean’s wrist in encouragement, thumb brushing over the bone curving the inner edge. The mattress dips with the weight of Dean’s body as he straddles his legs around Sam and pushes Sam’s t-shirt higher up.  
  
Dean’s fingers skate swirling circles and formless patterns that make Sam feel like he’s made of water and air and nothing else. His hands fall to the side of his body, fingertips just touching Dean’s thighs and skating over his knees, and he thinks about how all Dean’s buzzing atoms feel like hot stardust against his fingertips. As he continues stroking his brother’s skin, the thought suddenly pushes into Sam’s mind that Dean had been jealous when he’d found him in the living room with those girls. He clutches the thought tight, warmth spreading in his chest from the rush of too-hot pleasure, knowing that Dean’s in this just as deep as he is.  
  
When Dean’s mouth comes down to encase a nipple in wet heat, Sam gasps and clutches at Dean’s head, his nails scratching against short, dirty-blonde hair. He can _feel_ Dean’s chuckle. “You’re so sensitive,” Dean comments, tweaking the rosy nub with his finger as his mouth comes up. He locks eyes with Sam, licks his lips, then pushes up Sam’s body so he can shove their mouths together.  
  
The weight of Dean’s body is warm and familiar, surrounding Sam like a safety blanket. Dean’s hands haven’t stopped moving, continue to trail up the side of Sam’s ribs while Dean’s lips and tongue work slow and deep into Sam’s mouth, filling Sam with the bittersweet taste of whatever they’d been serving downstairs. Based on the lingering aftertaste, Sam thinks Jack and Coke.  
  
When Sam whines and cants his hips up, Dean grins into his mouth and adjusts himself so he can slide a leg right between Sam’s, giving the younger boy something to grind up against. It feels good to get some pressure on his cock, but Sam knows that the friction between their jeans doesn’t feel nearly as good as their naked skin against each other would. So he grips Dean tight and rolls them over, the expanse of space on the king bed making Sam giddy with how easily he can spread Dean out, splaying his limbs like some kind of sacrificial offering.  
  
Quickly deciding that he needs to take care of the clothes problem, Sam pinches and unzips and pulls until there’s nothing but bare skin between him and his brother. He slides himself on top of Dean just to feel the silky glide of sweat-soaked teenage skin, mouth finding Dean’s red, used lips once again as his hips rub up and down, every contact and sensation filled with heightened awareness.  
  
Pushing his body down, Sam trails his tongue across the side of Dean’s hip. It tastes of salt and sweat, and Sam licks across until he’s just to the left of Dean’s bellybutton where he nips lightly at the freckled skin. Tremors race up Dean’s stomach, and he stutters out a wordless grunt which rises in pitch when Sam lowers his mouth, moves down to let his hot breath sweep over the top of Dean’s dick.  
  
“So hard for me,” Sam comments, his voice filled with dark, pleased warmth. Dean’s cock twitches, flushed hot and the tip a glossy, wet red. Saliva fills Sam’s mouth as he thinks of dragging that heady shaft along his tongue, and he smiles, cheeks indented with dimples as he softly asks, “You want my mouth? Want me to slip that pretty cock of yours down my throat?”  
  
“Oh god,” Dean says in a strained voice while his cock blurts out more precome that drips slowly down the side. “Yes. Please, Sammy. Please suck me off.”  
  
Pleased with his brother’s response, Sam flattens his tongue and runs it up the side, eagerly catching the long drip of precome and letting his own spit add to the wet, velvety texture. He loves the feel of Dean’s cock in his mouth, heavy with blood and musky underneath his nose.  
  
After a few minutes, Sam lets his hands take over so he can watch Dean unravel. He skates a set of his fingers down Dean’s perineum, rubbing lightly against the dark starburst. “You gonna let me fuck you again?” he asks softly. "You look so hot stuffed full with my cock. Been thinking about it every day since the last time.” The hand Sam still has on Dean’s cock starts pumping faster and Dean tosses his head back, gasping deep. Sam can feel a glow of triumph heating him from the inside at turning his older brother into this writhing, moaning mess.  
  
Seeing his brother so open and willing always reminds Sam how fleeting it is; how next week Dean might close himself off again, go back to pretending like they’ve never blurred the lines of what’s acceptable behavior for brothers.  
  
“You need to stop pretending you don’t want this,” Sam warns while Dean fists the bedspread tightly, his whole body tense. “Stop acting like you don’t want me so deep inside that you can taste it.” When the tip of Sam’s finger slips into Dean’s hole, Dean tenses, but Sam’s other hand moves down to clamp tight around the base of Dean’s cock.  
  
“Fuck – Sam, you gotta – ” Dean’s hands claw towards his brother but Sam bats them away with his free hand.  
  
“Tell me you still want me,” Sam growls out, grip still tight. He’s so fed up with all the bullshit and guilt that inevitably follow every time they do this. Glaring down at Dean, Sam lets his voice go quiet. “Tell me I’m not just something you’ve outgrown.”  
  
“Sam…” Dean draws in a shuddering breath, props himself up on his elbows to look down at Sam with half-lidded eyes that can’t quite seem to focus. His voice is breathy and low. “How can you even think… I’ll always want you, Sammy.”  
  
The sincerity of it is obvious even through the cloud of lust in Dean’s eyes, and Sam can feel the tension that’s been building in his chest for months now start to relax. Releasing his grip on Dean’s cock, Sam ducks and gulps him down, running his tongue over the head of Dean’s prick while his hands jack the base. Dean comes seconds later with a loud shout, and Sam closes his mouth around Dean’s cock, sucking him through his orgasm and swallowing every pulse until Dean falls back, panting and staring sightlessly at the ceiling.  
  
While Dean is still out of it, Sam checks out the bedside dresser and sifts through the contents until he finds a small bottle of lubricant. Grabbing Dean’s lax body, Sam pulls him to the edge of the bed and bends his knees into his chest.  Dean keeps gulping air in and out while Sam slides his fingers inside, stretching Dean and enjoying the way Dean rocks into the invasion.  
  
Sam had worked Dean up to fingering only a few months ago, after a whole year of Dean warily pushing Sam’s hands away, refusing to give up his cherry ass. With stubborn determination and teenage hormones on his side, Sam hadn’t backed off, opting for a more subtle approach instead. Every time he’d gone down on his brother, laving his tongue around Dean’s cock and sucking on his balls, he’d skate a finger down through the spit, wandering lower until he gently rubbed against the opening without ever going in. He could feel it twitch against his fingertip every time, practically begging to be entered and filled despite Dean’s hesitation, and he’d circled gently until it softened under his finger.  
  
After weeks of getting Dean relaxed and used to the feeling, Sam managed to sneak a fingertip inside while taking Dean as deep inside his mouth as he could go. Dean’s reaction was immediate, his whole body jerking as he’d cried out and shot hard and deep down Sam’s throat. By the time Sam finished coughing, trying not to aspirate his brother’s come into his airways, Dean was still breathing hard from the intensity of his orgasm, his cheeks stained a bright, warm red. That blush had been too much to resist, and Sam had kneeled on Dean’s chest, jacking himself off right into that heated flesh.  
  
After that, Dean started begging for Sam’s fingers every time.  
  
  
When Dean feels ready to take him in, Sam slicks up his cock and feeds it into the wet, relaxed opening. Dean breathes into the feel as Sam pushes inside inch-by-inch, grabbing Sam’s arm tightly when he finally bottoms out.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean grunts out, thighs opening wider. “Fucking hell, Sammy. If you ever grow into that monster cock, you’re gonna be a fuckin’ giant one day.” He tilts his hips up, bottom lip caught between his teeth and chest and face covered in a splotchy red. One of his legs hooks around to catch on Sam’s hip, shoving him closer, and he slides a hand into the nape of Sam’s neck.  
  
Pulling Sam’s head down, Dean leans up to trace his tongue along the edge of Sam’s ear, voice hot and breathy as he says, “C’mon, little brother. Fuck me.”  
  
Sam can feel all the blood pulsing in his cock where the pressure inside Dean grips him tight, sucks him in deeper. Tucking his head inside the crook of Dean’s neck, Sam latches his mouth against Dean’s pulse and pounds in hard enough to start fucking sounds out of Dean with each thrust. Soft little grunts come from somewhere deep inside Dean’s gut every time Sam’s dick hits him just right.  
  
Sam doesn’t last long, especially not with the residual effects of the weed making his nerves burst into life like 4th of July sparklers with each tactile sensation. Sam’s orgasm crashes into him hard, and he lets his body fall against Dean’s as he rides out what seems like the longest orgasm of his young life, eyes squeezed tight enough to make bright phosphenes flash color behind his lids.  
  
Dean’s arms circle around Sam, rubbing soothingly against the dip of his lower back while Sam struggles to remember how to breathe again. Finally, he lifts his head, eyes tired as he smiles and lowers his mouth to Dean’s.  
  
It’s soft and slow, Dean’s mouth peppering small kisses to the side of Sam’s mouth and across his jaw then back again to press against Sam’s puffy lips. As much as Sam enjoys the actual sex, sometimes he thinks he likes this part best – when Dean’s still happy and glowing, letting all that affection just spill out of him so Sam can greedily soak it up like sunshine.  
  
When Dean adjusts them so they’re side-by-side, Sam tucked into Dean’s arms, he can feel the bump of Dean’s half-hard erection jut against his hip. He starts to reach back, but Dean grabs his hand.  
  
“Eh, leave it,” he says tiredly, lazily rubbing against Sam's side. “Feels nice just like this.”  
  
“Mmm,” Sam says in agreement, moving his hand instead to the back of Dean’s thigh to draw him in closer. “We gonna head home soon?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean confirms, and Sam can feel a half-shrug against his back. “Not sure why I bothered coming here at all. Don’t know any of these people, and we won’t stay here long enough to matter. Come next week, no one here’s gonna even remember us.”  
  
Sam can hear the wistfulness that Dean tries so hard to keep down, to swallow back and pretend everything is fine because Dean seems to think it’s his job to keep the stress of their nomadic lives hidden from their father. Sam hates how disconnected Dean feels from the world. How ill-prepared he is for any kind of normal life. He hates the bloody, violent existence forced on them, hates especially that John only seems interested in shaping Dean into the perfect hunter, the perfect killer, the perfect soldier. Never mind that he’s excluding Dean from choosing any other kind of life.  
  
But another deeper, guilty part of Sam is secretly glad that he and Dean are all each other have. Because he honestly doesn’t know how he would handle sharing Dean with anyone else.  
  
“You don’t need ‘em,” Sam says as a small yawn slips out. He grabs at the hand Dean’s got draped over his hip and laces their fingers together. “You got me.”  
  
Dean chuckles, presses his lips inside the shaggy layers of Sam’s hair. “Yeah. Just you and me, Sammy, against the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated <3


End file.
